


The Lost Chord

by blglr0n



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Loneliness, Post s2 finale, slightly force sensitive din
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28385829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blglr0n/pseuds/blglr0n
Summary: In the silence of the Razor Crest,  Din shut his eyes and tried his best to reach other through the Force to Grogu. He doesn't know what he's doing, if it'll work,  if the Force is real. He just hopes Grogu doesn't feel so alone either, away from him.A quick read.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	The Lost Chord

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!!  
> This is my first posting, and I really hope you guys like it. Feedback is more than welcome! My friends aren't really into Star Wars so I wasn't able to get a lot of feedback on it. I may write more in the future, but I'm not sure yet.  
> Thanks for checking it out!

Din shut his eyes, shuffling awkwardly as he settled cross legged on the floor. The metal of the gear shift ball was cool to the touch, and he could already picture Grogu holding it in his little claws. A cold weight pressed on his chest as he thought on the child, like the hull of the Razor Crest was wrapping itself around his ribs and crushing him. Such had been the loneliness he'd felt since Grogu went with Skywalker that day.The Mandalorian felt detached, from everything, anymore. He certainly didn't feel like the Mandalorian, anymore. He didn't have the child, he didn't have his allies, he couldn't even wear his helmet. And, without his armor, he didn't know what he was. Another grifter, floating aimlessly through the Outer Rim.

He felt the bizarre feeling of helplessness once again; a feeling that had become for more commonplace than he felt comfortable admitting to. Since when had he been so reliant on others? The bitter part of him wanted to feel glad the child was gone, that he could go back to being a one man army. But, as he would solemnly remind himself, he was little to nothing without his armor, and the fantasy he dreamed of where he could return to life as it had been before was exactly that: a fantasy. It was hard to live in reality, he found. He was... Self-aware, now. It was as though his helmet had been more like a mask, hiding truths from him. 

He was a violent man; without the jobs and the thrill of combat, he felt aimless, floating through space with no purpose or cause.

He was a lonely man; without Grogu, he felt choked by the blanket of solitude he had once found comfort in. 

But what was he to do about it? The way he figured, there was nothing he could do. He had fulfilled his duty in returning the little creature to his kind-- that was supposed to be the end of it. It was supposed to be just another job. But the reality was such that it had ascended from being a job, to being a purpose and a responsibility, far beyond him. There was nothing he could do now. In the same vein, that mewling, simpering part of him that selfishly wanted to turn the ship around and take Grogu back, filled him with such bitter anger. He was angry at himself, for being so attached; angry at Skywalker for actually appearing to take the young Jedi with him; at Bo-Katan for mocking his creed and the shame he felt for removing his armor. He found he even wanted to lash out at the child but the moment Din thought of him, the anger died, like a fire snuffed out. Of anyone, Grogu was blameless in this. He was but a child, who wanted a home.

And, in the silence that often followed the hollow space his rage left behind, he felt a tinge of something else. Something quiet and warm, but sad. It had been hard to pinpoint at first, his mind clouded and emotional. But, as it had settled into his chest, he recognized it as an estranged hope that Grogu wasn’t as alone as he was. He had to believe that he did the right thing by the boy, not just the duty he had sworn to do. It was only in that belief that he had any consolation.

Even still in that melancholy, it was hard not to feel like he was missing a part of himself. Strange how he had so completely absorbed this child into his life, in what felt like such a short time. He would half-joke to himself that Grogu had filled a vacuum in his heart he hadn’t even known he had. It was foolish or selfish, but like a spice addict needing their fix, he was desperate to have that space filled, if only for a moment.

Din took a long, slow breath, flexing his fingers around the ball in his hand, and attempted to quiet his thoughts. He furrowed his brow, thinking of the child as intensely as he dared. He didn’t know what he was doing; this certainly didn’t feel right. It felt like he was trying to physically reach for something he couldn’t touch, but trapped within himself. It made his biceps twitch and his skin crawl. Tano had said the Force was something that all living things had, so it stood to reason that perhaps if he was strong enough, maybe he could reach out to Grogu. Or, maybe, if Grogu could feel him reaching, he could reach the rest of the way. If a child could do it, certainly he could, couldn’t he?

It was deeply frustrating. Din was not a meditative man by nature. It seemed like once he became aware of his thoughts, he didn’t know how to quiet them. He felt like he was sitting there in the dark, alone, doing dank all. Which, he probably was. But it felt good to know that, at least on some level, he was trying.

It felt like hours he was sitting there, before he felt a wave slowly wash over him. It wasn’t calm precisely, he doubted he had ever truly felt calm before, but it was not fear. At first it was a twinge in his stomach, before even the slow thumping of his heart faded away. It was an undulating feeling, like he was being pulled out to tide, teased with returning to shore before being cast further out. In his mind’s eye, he extended his arm through cold, astral waters, as if reaching for a lifeline. He felt a tug in the back of his mind, a pulse rippling down the line and an anchoring heaviness settling over his body. Absently, he squeezed the gear shift.

“Grogu?” his voice was hoarse and weak in his own ears.

“Mandalorian?” 

Din’s eyes shot open, and he gasped as the heaviness was suddenly hurtled away from his body and his head broke the surface of the water. He was back on his ship, and he doubted he had ever been so distraught to see the craft in his life. For a second, for only a damn second, he had felt it.

“No! No, no-- Grogu!” His voice quavered, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his grip on the ball in his hand until his knuckles turned white. “Dank ferrik-- come on! Do it again!” It felt like the harder he squeezed, the louder his thoughts were, screaming at him to do it again, he did it once, he can do it again! His head felt too crowded, too loud; that he was the tide this time, and he was simply drowning himself.

With a snarl of frustration, Din shot to his feet and hurled the ball at the ground. The moment he thought would be enough to tide him over, wasn’t. It felt like a slap in the face, and he had no one to blame but himself. He really was an addict with an itch he simply couldn’t scratch, wasn’t he? His chin wobbled, and as he fought to steel himself, his anger evaporated all at once, and once again that deep sadness filled the empty space. He sank back down on his haunches, wrapping his arms around himself.

In the dark of the Razor Crest, Din Djarin, the clan of one, wept.


End file.
